


The Candidate

by Jac_Danvers



Category: Lost
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fate, Graphic Historical Imagery, The island - Freeform, season 6 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 22:40:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5683651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jac_Danvers/pseuds/Jac_Danvers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bram once called Frank a candidate, but he wasn't on Jacob's wall. He goes to Illana for answers, and finds that there is more to his story, and her story, than he realized. Takes place between Sundown and Recon. Hints at a Frank/Illana. AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Candidate

**Author's Note:**

> I think this is my last one-shot to move over? I wrote a lot of these back in the day. 
> 
> Contains historic imagery that readers may find gruesome.

“You ever sleep?”

 

His voice startled her.

 

It shouldn’t, but it did, and immediately she felt ashamed, not to mention angry, at herself. She was supposed to be on guard at all times, ready to strike the enemy down. Not for her own sake, of course. Never for herself.

 

She was the only thing standing between the candidates and _him_ now. Failure, as they said, was not an option. Not at this point.

 

Yet hadn’t she failed already? Jacob was dead. Bram, her best friend, the person she’d come to count on the past sixty-seven years, was dead. Jarrah was infected. Ford was missing. Half of the Kwon pair too. Damnit, she didn’t even know if she had the _right_ Kwon with her.

 

Oh yes, she was doing just a stand-up job.

 

“What do you think, Frank?” she muttered, rolling a blade of dried fern between her fingers. The dry plant disintegrated easily into her palm, and she tossed the dust into the fire.

 

“What do I think? I think I’d like a cold beer, but I doubt you’re gonna give me the go ahead to run back to the plane and get one.”

 

She snorted. “Plane’s battery has been off for days now, I’m sure. I highly doubt the beer is still cold.”

 

“Luke warm’s better than nothing.”

 

He plopped down, sending a cloud of sand into the air, and leaned back on his elbows, feet dangerously close to the fire. The top three buttons of his shirt were undone, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked relaxed – a deception if there ever was, because if Ilana knew one thing for certain, it was that none of them had breathed easy since…

 

His hand grazed her back, causing her to jump. He’d taken her by surprise twice now. “What?” she muttered, wishing Frank would go away.

 

“I’m not really a candidate, am I?

 

His words silenced her. Bram… he’d revealed too much. Frank should never have seen Locke’s body, never heard the word ‘candidate.’ They’d agreed, when she first asked Bram to be her second on the mission, that everyone would know their place, their destiny, at the proper time. Ilana had hoped Frank would forget the words, but apparently luck was determined not to be on her side.

“Not a candidate, per se…” Her hands started playing with the gun in her lap, loading and unloading the magazine, trying desperately to avoid this conversation. It was a hard discussion, one that more often than not went horribly. Bram once told her how badly he’d taken the news, when Jacob came to him as he bled out in a hospital three miles from the trenches of Ypres.

 

The voice of a stranger standing over him as he fell in and out of consciousness:

 

“ _I’m not here to save you. Not in the traditional sense.”_

She heard the same words thirty years later. No real choice, no option, no chance of returning to the real world. Just Jacob’s touch making the pain go away and a whole new definition of life.

 

Frank sat up straight and grabbed the gun from her hands, stopping her fidgeting. “Per se my ass, ‘Lana. Either I am one or not.”

 

She hesitated a moment before responding, contemplating how exactly she could phrase this and how she liked the way he slurred her name.  The news would be a shock, and she didn’t want the rest of the camp to be awakened by his reaction.

 

“I was a candidate once,” she said softly. Her eyes gazed at the fire, afraid to look him in the eyes. “The same kind of candidate as you.”

 

“For Jacob’s job?” he asked, reclining once again back into the sand.

 

“I wish.” She couldn’t help the sigh that emerged. It was the truth. For a significant portion of the past sixty-some-odd years, all she wanted was to hear Jacob say that she was the one he chose. “I wanted nothing more than to be one of Jacob’s candidates.”

 

“And he didn’t choose you?”

 

She shrugged, looking down at him. “I wanted it too much.”

 

There must have been something in her voice, a tinge of sadness or loss, because he rested a hand on her lower back. The conversation brought back memories of her life, her family, her child. She almost resented Frank for bringing up these memories. She wished he’d stop, wished he’d go away.

 

Wished he’d keep moving his hand in that slow figure eight. It made her feel real again. Feel human.

 

“We protect Jacob and the candidates. Bram, myself - we’re the off-island contingent. The Richard Alperts of the real world. We’ve done it for years, manipulating each and every candidate to the point that they were able to get here. To their ultimate fate.”

 

“Which is?”

 

“Death. Life. Once they’re here, Jacob is hands off. It’s up to them to determine their own fate.”

 

His hand stopped moving. “Sounds like a recipe for disaster.”

 

“Never said I was one hundred percent behind it. Jacob was like a father to me. He saved my life. That doesn’t mean I stopped having an opinion.”

 

Silence fell over them, the fire crackling and snapping as the dry interior of the decades-old drift wood heated. She expected more questions, but Frank seemed contemplative, mulling over everything he had just heard.

 

His hand had not moved either, disconcerting and heavenly on her back, and therefore, dangerous. He was distracting her while the mission was still at stake.

 

“How old are you Ilana?” he asked suddenly.

 

She smirked. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to ask a lady her age?”

 

Frank snorted, rolling his eyes. “C’mon ‘Lana…”

 

“Thirty-three.”

 

“No. I mean your real age.” He was frowning.

 

“Ninety-nine. Would have turned one hundred later this year.”

 

It was his turn to smirk. “Your looks would make Joan Rivers cry over her plastic surgery bills.”

 

She laughed genuinely, thinking back to the long nights in hiding back in the 60’s, waiting for word from Jacob. She’d forced Bram to watch the Ed Sullivan Show with her, had laughed along with Joan Rivers and the other comedians. Their fears for those left behind on the Island forgotten for one hour a week.

 

“What made you do it? Why’d you volunteer to join Jacob’s Army of Immortals?”

 

She paused. Bram knew the story. Jacob, obviously – he had been hidden in the forest, watching the barrage of bullets as they struck down her family. Had she not been bleeding so badly, she would have killed him with her bare hands in an animalistic fury. How dare he stand by and save her, while they had shot down every person she had ever known? How dare he claim to be her savior when he’d done nothing to stop the atrocities?

 

“I was thirty-three when they came to my village.”

 

Ilana wasn’t sure how much she wanted to reveal. She stared into the sand, trying to bore a hold through the loose silt, deep into the earth. There was no emotion in her voice, mimicking the distance she’d placed between herself and the event. So much time had passed since, that it seemed more a brief, impersonal story read in a history book than her own life.    

 

“The Nazis… they herded everyone into the center of town, mad us march through the forest. It was then I knew… there was nothing along that path. Nothing for miles. I knew we were dead, that the so-called ghost stories were true. They were going to kill us.”

 

She paused to collect herself. The emotions were surging. She wasn’t going to cry – she was past tears – but it hurt to remember them. To remember how hard she fought to forget them those first few years with Jacob. To realize that their images were slowly fading as time passed, that soon she wouldn’t be able to picture her little girl or her husband.

 

An arm slipped around her waist, comforting. Ilana turned to look at Frank, waiting for him to say something. He didn’t, to her surprise. He sat patiently, giving her time to decide whether she would finish the story or not. A gently squeeze told her it was her choice. He wouldn’t press, even though his eyes gleamed with curiosity.

 

“I was married. My little girl was four. Everyone I knew – my extended family, my friends, my neighbors. They were all killed that day. Shot, buried in a mass grave. I still don’t know how I survived the initial shots. I was buried under the corpses of everyone I knew, my little girl dying in my arms, covered in blood and bodies. I stayed until she was gone, and when I thought it was safe, I crawled out through the bodies of my people. That’s when Jacob found me sprawled on the forest floor. I’d lost too much blood, I wouldn’t have survived even if I’d gotten to the hospital. He told me that he wasn’t there to save me. And here I am, talking to you.”

 

Frank’s eyes were glazed over, bearing a mixture of emotions – anger, sadness, empathy. He pulled her into a hug, taking her by surprise. Ilana hadn’t expected this, and she wondered at what point during guard duty did her whole “failure is not an option” mentality get shot to hell and traded for sharing life stories with a sarcastic, alcoholic pilot.

 

“I’m so sorry.”

 

Silence fell between them again, if you could ignore the lapping of the ocean on the beach, the tide beginning to rise.

 

She had to tell Frank the rest. To prepare him for what was imminent.

 

“It’ll happen to you too.”

 

“What?” His arm pulled away, and she regretted the loss of his warmth. It was pleasant – should would admit that much consciously.

 

“You’re going to die Frank. Or at least come close to it. That’s the only way to change over. To become like me.”

 

“Immortal?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

He was quiet a moment. “Well that’s a real twist to the story, now, isn’t it?”

 

How was he so calm?

 

She must have voiced that thought, because he replied, “’Lana, you may word for Jacob, but you haven’t been on this damned island long enough to see half of what goes on here. Being told I’m going to become immortal? That’s just a blip on the shock radar.”

 

“You don’t understand Frank. Once you change, you become like me. That’s it. The island owns you until you die.” The words came out in an urgent whisper. He couldn’t be taking this so calmly. She hadn’t – tried killing herself several times those first few years. She wanted it over, to be with her daughter again.

 

“Like it doesn’t already own us? And what do you mean die? Immortal kind of implies living forever.”

 

“Immortal, yes. But not invincible. We can’t take our own lives, but other can take them from us. Bram’s dead and he was immortal. But Frank, I don’t think you really get the implications of all this. When I say the island owns you, I mean it really, truly owns you. You’ll never see your family again. The rest of your life, the rest of your days, you’ll spend following the command of whichever candidate becomes the new caretaker of this island. This isn’t a trivial thing. It’s a burden. The existence of the world, of the human race… its survival is all on us.”

 

In a sudden move, Frank turned, grasping her by the shoulders tightly, faces so close their noses were nearly touching. “And I don’t think you’re hearing what I’m saying. Ilana, since the day I missed Flight 815, since I heard that plane crashed, I have done nothing but try and bring these people home. Tried to get back to this island. When I saw the Oceanic 6 board that Ajiira flight, insane as it sounds, I was relieved. I knew. I don’t have a wife and family, I’m a bitter old bachelor who likes his alcohol a bit more than he should. This place… this is the first thing to give my life any meaning in a very, very long time.”

 

He let her go suddenly, resuming his seat next to her, as if he just realized how close they were. “And besides, being stuck with you for all eternity doesn’t seem like quite a punishment, ‘Lana.” He winked at her salaciously. She rolled her eyes and couldn’t help but realize his arm was resting in the sand behind her again. Her emotions were reeling.

 

“That’s good to know, Frank.”

 

“So are you gonna go get some sleep? I can take over watch, seeing as I need to perfect my ‘mysterious island protector’ look.”

 

She shook her head. “No Frank, I’m not going to sleep. This is my job.”

 

“Mine too, now,” he said with a smile. Frank stood, brushing the sand from his pants. “Let me grab a gun. I’ll keep you company.”

 

She thought she’d like that. Not that it mattered much what she thought. She was here to do a job. _And after all_ , she reminded herself with a glance at Frank’s tent, _when it comes to protecting the candidates, two sets of eyes are most definitely better than one._  

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So I love the characters of Frank and Ilana, and we know so little of the two of them compared to the rest of the main cast. Even though Ilana's dead, I really wanted to fill in some of the blanks for her- she was just starting to grow on me. When I was watching back through season 5, I remembered that Bram had said Frank might be a candidate, and I feel like since Ilana knew who the real candidates were, that she knew Frank wasn't a Jacob-replacement candidate, so I had to fill in what Bram meant. Hope you enjoyed the story! Reviews, and particularly constructive criticism, area always greatly appreciated!


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